Chapter 4: A Growing Love
His thoughts were a raging storm.
"Anya … could it really be her?" William muttered to himself in his chambers. This room, a silent witness to his grief for twenty years, now felt invaded by a captivating new shadow. "How could someone look so much like you?" he asked the emptiness, gazing at a silver necklace with an intricately carved heart locket. This strange feeling, one he never expected to surface again, had haunted him since the woman's arrival. "If you are Anya, then you've returned … but if not .…"
He let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know what to do with this feeling," William said, his long fingers tracing the rose engraving on the worn locket. The bracelet, which had also belonged to Anya, had long been stored in an old wooden box in his desk drawer. Now, he reached for it, feeling the cold metal that held such bitter memories. "What should I do?" he asked himself, observing the object. "If it's truly her, then … she has to remember."
William stood. "I have to give it to her," he decided, his voice soft in the quiet room. His steps were firm as he walked through the familiar palace corridors, heading toward Shapira's room. His mind was filled with doubt. "Is this a sign? Or just a torment of my own making?" he murmured, his fingers stroking the bracelet. "I hope I'm not making a mistake."
At Shapira's door, William knocked.
"Who is it?" Shapira answered from within, her voice slightly startled.
"It's me, William," he replied, his voice a bit hoarse. "I need to speak with you, if you don't mind."
The door opened slowly, revealing Shapira in her nightgown. Her large eyes radiated confusion, as if she had just awoken from a long dream. "What is it, Prince William?" she asked, her voice a whisper. "Is something wrong?"
William stepped into the room. The air was still warm, with the faint scent of jasmine. "Nothing is wrong," he said, his voice calmer now. "I just … wanted to give you something." He pulled the silver bracelet from beneath his cloak. "This bracelet … it belonged to someone very precious to me."
Shapira stared at the bracelet with a strange expression. "This bracelet … it's so beautiful," she murmured, her fingers slowly reaching for the silver object. William watched as her skin touched the metal. "Why are you giving it to me?" she asked, her gaze now fixed on William. "I … I don't understand."
William felt his heart pound. "I don't know why I have to give it to you," he admitted, his voice low. "But … you remind me of her." William saw Shapira freeze, her gaze fixed on the bracelet she now held. "Try it on," he urged, his voice barely a whisper. "I just want to see."
Shapira complied. She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist. As she did, a faint light flickered from the rose engraving, and Shapira felt an inexplicable wave of warmth, as if the bracelet were a part of her. Her eyes closed for a moment. "What … what is this?" she whispered, opening her eyes to look at William. "I feel … so familiar with this."
William was stunned. His eyes widened. The woman's face, with the bracelet encircling her wrist, now looked so much like Anya, his late fiancée. More than ever before. "Anya?" William whispered, the name slipping from his lips, a subconscious murmur. "You … you look so much like her."
Shapira stared at him, tears beginning to well in her eyes. "Why would you say that?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Who is Anya?" Shapira felt a powerful wave of emotion that wasn't her own, yet it felt as if it were. Her heart ached at William's expression. "I don't know what's happening," she admitted, her voice filled with panic. "I … I feel strange."
William stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Shapira. "I … I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, his voice gentle. "It's just … the resemblance is too strong. This feeling … it's overwhelming." They stared at each other, their eyes meeting in a meaningful silence. Unspoken words hung in the air between them, an invisible thread beginning to weave itself. "Do you feel it, too?" William whispered, his gaze piercing into her soul.
Shapira didn't answer, only nodding slowly. The fear was mixed with something else, something warm and familiar. A feeling she had never experienced before.
It was the night of the palace ball. The lively music of the orchestra filled the grand hall, mingling with the laughter and whispers of the assembled nobility. Candlelight flickered, reflecting off glittering jewels and lavish gowns. King Astellia, a warm smile on his face, approached William.
"My son," the King said, his voice calm but full of authority. "I see Shapira is ready. It is time for you to dance with her. It will quell the rumors that have been circulating."
William sighed. "But Father, is that necessary?" he asked, his voice reluctant. He glanced at Shapira, who stood at the side of the room, looking slightly awkward amidst the crowd. The simple gown she wore stood out among the splendor, but she possessed a natural aura of elegance.
"Of course it's necessary, William," the King insisted, clapping his son on the shoulder. "This is about legitimacy. Show them she is not a threat. And … she deserves this chance."
William nodded in resignation. "Very well, Father," he replied, then walked toward Shapira.
"Shapira," William said, extending his hand to her. "The King wishes for us to dance." His voice was formal, but a faint hesitation lingered in his eyes.
Shapira looked at his hand, then at his face. She saw a conflicted expression there. "I … I will, Prince William," she answered softly, placing her small hand in his.
They stepped onto the center of the floor. The music shifted to a soft, graceful waltz. As William's hand rested on Shapira's waist and his other clasped her fingers tightly, a spark of electricity seemed to flow between them. The dance, which had at first felt forced, now transformed into something else. They moved in perfect harmony, as if they had been dancing together their entire lives.
"You're … a good dancer," William whispered, his gaze locked on Shapira's eyes. He was surprised by his own words.
Shapira offered a small smile. "I learned a little in my world," she replied, her voice low. "You're not so bad yourself, for a prince."
William smiled, a rare, thin smile, and for a moment, his face looked younger, freer. "Is that so?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.
Whispers began to circulate among the guests. "Look at them! They're a perfect match!" someone murmured. "Perhaps she isn't an impostor after all."
But another voice, clear and sharp, cut through. "It's all just an act, isn't it?" Lady Isabelle approached, a cynical smile playing on her lips. Her eyes betrayed a burning jealousy. "A servant trying to charm the prince. How disgusting."
William stopped dancing. He turned to Isabelle, his gaze cold. "Isabelle, watch your tongue," he warned, his voice tense. "You don't know what you're talking about."
Shapira touched William's arm. "It's all right, Prince William," she said, her voice calm and firm. She looked straight at Isabelle. "I am only dancing, Lady Isabelle. As commanded. If that bothers you, I apologize."
Shapira's grace, even in this humiliating situation, impressed William. He saw a strength in her he had never expected. "Shapira," William said, his voice full of admiration. He gave her a faint smile, one far more genuine than any he had given Isabelle. "Let's continue our dance." They resumed dancing, ignoring Isabelle, who now stood frozen, her face flushed red. This admiration was a new feeling for William, one he had never felt before.
The party ended. The cool night air greeted them on the palace balcony. Stars glittered in the dark sky.
"Shapira," William said, his voice breaking the silence. He stood beside her, gazing into the distance. "I want to apologize. For my behavior toward you … from the beginning."
Shapira turned, surprised. "Apologize?" she asked, her eyes widening. "Why all of a sudden?"
"I know I've been cold," William admitted, his voice low. "I … I haven't been fair to you. And I'm sorry that Isabelle made you uncomfortable back there." He paused. "I … I find myself thinking about you often. You're different from anyone else."
Shapira felt her cheeks flush, a warmth spreading across her face. "I ...," she stammered, her heart fluttering. This strange feeling, a mix of shyness and something sweet. "I … I don't know what to say." She looked down at the dark palace gardens below them. "I'm not used to this kind of kindness."
William stepped closer. "I mean it," he said. "And I know … this must be difficult for you. You are a servant here. And I am a prince. And there are many things you haven't told me."
Shapira lifted her head, her eyes meeting William's with uncertainty. "I'm scared, William," she confessed in a whisper. "Scared to open my heart. I'm from another world. I don't know what will happen to me here. Or why I'm even here." Her feelings were a tangled mess. She wanted to trust him, to open up, but there was an invisible wall she had built around herself.
"I understand," William said, his voice gentle. "But … I will protect you. As long as you are here, under my protection, no one will harm you." He looked at Shapira, his gaze full of sincerity. "Trust me."
Shapira looked at him. The words, the promise, sounded genuine. There was something relieving in William's declaration, a small light in the darkness she felt. She wanted to answer him, to tell him how safe she felt near him. But the words caught in her throat. She only nodded slowly, offering a small smile in return.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. A messenger rushed toward them, his face pale. "Prince William! There's news from the border!" he panted, looking terrified.
William turned to the messenger. "What is it?" he asked, his voice tense.
"An envoy from King Lucian has arrived," the messenger reported, breathless. "He … he demands that the woman be handed over." His eyes darted toward Shapira, full of unconcealed fear. "They … they say Shapira is the reincarnation of Princess Anya. And they will consider a refusal a declaration of war!"
Shapira felt the blood drain from her face. Reincarnation? The threat of war? The fear she had been trying to suppress now erupted. She saw the panic in the messenger's eyes and felt a piercing chill.
William stepped forward, positioning himself in front of Shapira, shielding her with his body. His expression transformed from tenderness to a burning rage. "What did you say?!" William snapped, his voice thundering on the quiet balcony. "Shapira belongs to no one to be handed over!"
"But Prince, King Lucian .…" the messenger tried to explain, his voice trembling.
"I don't care what King Lucian says!" William cut in, his gaze sharp. He stared at the messenger with eyes full of resolve. "Tell the envoy that Shapira stays here. In Astellia. And she will remain safe under my protection."
Shapira stared at William's back. This sense of security, this sudden protection, enveloped her like a warm blanket in a storm. She felt shielded, but also worried. A great war could break out because of her. And William … he had just confessed his feelings, and now he had to face a terrible threat. This fate, the one that tied her to Anya, had now brought real danger to the palace. An unanswered question hung in her mind, would this love bring salvation … or destruction?